


I Could Live in Hope

by fairym0th



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Boston CommonWealth, Caesar's Legion, Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Followers of the Apocalypse (Fallout), Gen, General, Heavy Angst, Minutemen, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), NCR | New California Republic, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Psychological Drama, Soldiers, War Veteran, everything in the world, southern OC, too much shit, war deserter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14130942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairym0th/pseuds/fairym0th
Summary: After the Mojave Wasteland fell to Caesar's rule, Harley Walker ran as fast as he could to get away from the war-torn ruins of the Hoover Dam. Many years later, he finds himself in the Boston Commonwealth. Will he be able to finally confront his demons, or will he be reduced to nothing more than ash?Eventual romance. Angst. Canon divergence. Future Minuteman. Awful things are bound to happen. More tags to be added as the story advances.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another Fallout fic because I'm absolute trash. I really just want to see all of my headcanons flourish in one place, so bear with me as I bring you along for this terrible ride that is my take on the Fallout franchise. I'll be testing out new things in this fic to carry over into unReal, so let's all see how this turns out. As always, thank you so much for reading.

 

It had been weeks since sunlight had touched his aching eyes after he had become outfitted with a coarse burlap sack.

The days were seemingly endless, and the only way that time had become measurable was through each rift of flesh that split open after routine lashings. Droves of varied legionary ranks would tend to Harley in waves to inflict different degrees of pain, both psychological and physical, with the full intent of _breaking_ him. As time carried on, and the deeper that the wounds that marked his back got, their frustration grew. Whether or not Harley Walker planned on taking this as a personal victory was unclear, but if there was one thing for certain—they hadn't yet broken him. That and that alone was enough to fill Caesar full of indignation that would run far deeper than any scars that the NCR ranger would ever have after this fateful encounter with the Legion.

The bloodied tips of Harley's ears perked at the metallic scrape of the hatch that kept him isolated from the outside world. An influx of fresh air flooded his senses, and for a second he was able to catch a meager breath through the sack before it was cut off once again. Harley exhaled harshly, and whatever emotion that he currently felt drew out a purr of a laugh from one of his many captors before the sack was snatched right off of his head.

Above him stood a woman that couldn't be any older than twenty. Her stature was small, but the sinew in her vanilla tinted hands bore years of hard work. Her knuckles cracked and had certainly bled in ways that were not at all intrinsic to the fullness of her cheeks. They were tickled with rose, and her flaxen locks framed her bloodthirsty smile in a terribly misleading way.

She was beautiful, and the way that the chamber's harsh fluorescent lighting burst around her frame made him doubt whether or not she was simply an angel or just the devil in disguise. Her red lips parted as she gingerly swiped away the sweat-drenched hairs on his forehead.

"Caesar has granted me the task of dealing with you," she'd said, breath hot against his temple as her body dipped closer to his. She smelled medicinal, an intoxicating perfume of datura and horsenettle. _"Cinis est pura forma. Tu autem vade, et in flammis."_

**********

Harley's eyelids snapped open like the jaws of a spore plant when a wagon wheel snapped bundles of thick branches into pieces. He let the breath that he'd been holding in his chest out slowly, methodically, and drew his cautious fingers away from his rifle. One of the caravaneers that he accompanied on this trip chuckled at him as he shook his head in the dim light of an oil lamp.

"Guess we're lucky to have you along for the ride," The man's words were a messy tango with the cigarette smoke that spiraled from his lips. "That itchy trigger finger of yours took out many'a legionaries and critters before they even got the damn chance to  _think_  about fuckin' with us."

Harley groaned as he sat up, cursing his creaky war-mangled joints before offering the trader an almost charming smile in response, "Y'never know when something's gonna need a good shootin', Russell."

Their little exchange was friendly, just as most interactions with Harley Walker were expected to go, given his ability to manipulate situations with a few clever jokes and a beautifully executed grin that, despite all he'd been through, was still somehow genuine. Trusting enough to make veterans of the wastes gravitate to him like insects to a flame, and charismatic enough to land him a place in the back of a Happy Trails caravan that was migrating to an eastern Commonwealth. Seeing as the Mojave was now a festering wound that was inflicted by Caesar's Legion, getting as far away from Arizona was the best decision.

Harley had managed to present the caravaneers with carefully procured Legion maps that documented which roads were being patrolled and when they were open. Thankfully, the group opted to keep questioning to a minimum when they pulled what at the time had been a half-nude, practically shredded man into their carriage and set off without a moment's notice. Five years and thousands of counted blessings later, Harley was still sticking with Happy Trails as a bonafide member of their group.

As the time passed, members came and went like clockwork. Now, it was just him, Russell and Bubba Ray, their new driver that they'd picked up during a rather rough trip through a rather messy excursion in West Virginia.

During this trip, he spent the majority of his time wondering what had truly become of New Vegas. The once semi-independent lands were now under a punitive totalitarian dictatorship that was likely doing far more harm than good, especially since the last news the escapee had caught wind of was of far more than just the _alarming_ sort– Caesar was dead, and Lanius was now the front-runner of the Legion. What this would mean for the rest of the wastes was uncertain to him, and the only goal that Harley would have for months, maybe even years, to come was to put as much distance between him and what would become Lanius's new Legion.

"Y'know what I could really go for?" Russell asked introspectively, dabbing the end of his cigarette onto his tongue to extinguish the cherry.

"Let me guess," Harley's brow rose and he looked up at the sky in mock thought. "You've been talking about busty brunettes and good hooch for the last week, so I'll bet all of the ten caps in my pocket on those there things."

The older man choked out a few throaty laughs that could have easily been misinterpreted as convulsions while he began shuffling through his belongings.

"No, ya fuckin' brat," Russell snorted. The man procured a familiar crop from his bag and pushed it towards Harley with a beaming grin. "This here prickly pear. One of the few things I miss about the west."

"Well, shit, Russ." Harley returned his senior's smile and palmed the familiar fruit in his hands. "Where on God's brown irradiated earth did you get this?"

Before Harley could even get a response from his friend, a bullet was methodically placed between his eyes and a spray of blood from his burst cranium dirtied the ex-ranger's face. Instinctively, he grabbed his hunting rifle and yelled out towards Bubba.

"Sniper!" His voice had dropped several octaves as he bolted around the side of the caravan, tugging Bubba down from his box seat and behind the body of the radstag drawn carriage. The bucks reared in terror as more shots rained down upon the two men.

"Shit, I— I didn't even see 'em, Harley!" Bubba sputtered, clumsily reaching for the pistol strapped to his thigh. He was on the verge of hysterics, and Harley swatted his hand away from the gun and shook his head.

"You couldn't have known," He assured the younger man as he discreetly peered around the side of the carriage. The sun hadn't yet risen, and this made it ten times as hard to pinpoint the exact location of the shooters. There had to be more than one. Intelligent snipers _never_  worked alone. "Don't you touch that gun unless someone's gettin' the jump on you or me, ya hear?"

"Y— yes sir."

Harley took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before checking the chamber of his rifle. The chamber was full, but the rest of his ammunition was back in the cart alongside his revolver. He should've known better than to try and relax. His job had been to protect these people. The time for guilt was not now, and he would have to reflect on his failures later. He had to keep Bubba Ray safe.

"Goddammit, Russ," Harley muttered as he caught sight of the prickly pear that his dead friend had gifted him with only moments before. He grabbed the fruit and clutched it tightly before pulling his arm back and sending the fruit far away from them. Luckily this was enough to get one of the snipers to fire blindly into the night, thus giving away his position on top of a hill a couple of clicks away from them.

Though the scope of his rifle was short, Harley's trained eye could easily make out the faint outline of a body. With not even a second to spare, the veteran fired into the darkness. A pained scream bounced off of the gnarled trees that boxed the two remaining members of Happy Trails in like hand-wrapped Christmas gifts. Harley's fist pumped close to his chest before he retreated back to his position.

"You got one of 'em, Harley!" Bubba bounced on his haunches as he gave his savior a brief high five. Harley rearranged the bolt of the rifle as he mulled over his options. His legs were strong enough to carry him up the hills of the newfound battleground, but he wasn't sure that Bubba would've been able to make a run for it without getting shot just like Russell. But, as it so happened to be, they were sitting ducks and Harley sure as hell didn't want to chance their lives just to cap a couple of goons.

It took him a second to come to an ultimate conclusion, and that ultimate conclusion wasn't the one that he normally would've been vying for, but he desperately wanted to keep his friend safe. As much as he could.

"Listen here," Harley's voice boomed quite louder than the bullets that had been exchanged. "Don't know if I killed one of you's, but I have no interest in making this any bloodier than it already has been."

His words were met with a ghostly silence, but no more shots had been fired. The ranger reached over and snatched Bubba Ray's pistol from his holster. After clicking the safety off, he carefully tucked the firearm away in the back of his jeans and concealed the grip under his moth-eaten flannel.

"Look, I'll make it worth your while. You can have the wagon along with everything in it," Harley tried again. "There's a couple hundred caps on my friend that y'all shot. Take it all and just let us take care of the body."

Bubba shot Harley a terrified look. They hadn't made a sale in over a week. There was, at most, fifty caps between _all_  of them. The kid ran a hand through his messy flaxen locks, lip frantically quivering at the other man. Harley felt bad for this whole situation that Bubba had gotten into, but it had been nothing but consensual as his parents were long gone by the time they'd found him. _They_. It'd take a while for Harley to adjust his manner of speaking, and just as long for him to let Russell's memory go. It wasn't anything new, sure, but losing someone that he cared for would never get any easier.

"You're lucky my friend is wearing a fucking vest, 'vanner," A man had finally spoken up before descending the hill. As the footfalls grew closer, Harley took in a sharp breath and set his rifle to the side. "We were gonna take you for all you're worth, but _maybe_  we can make this a quick... exchange."

"You got it, bud." Harley nodded at the armed man that had rounded the corner of the wagon. A sawed-off shotgun pointed directly in his face was a little more comforting than it should've been. If they had to make a run for it, a shotgun wouldn't do fuck all against a good bit of distance. The sniper was very likely going to remain at his post, though. If he did, he was a smart man.

"I'm not your fuckin' bud, guy," The other man hissed as he kicked away the hunting rifle, and shifted the sights of the shotgun onto Bubba before pointing it right back at Harley. "This is a business transaction. If you're lucky, you'll be able to walk out of this with the clothes on your fuckin' backs. Now, show me where these caps are. Any funny business and I'll blow your goddamn dick off."

Harley's dusty eyes connected with Bubba Ray's, and he tilted his chin upwards as if to say that _it would be alright, I'm not going to let anything happen to you_ before he hopped back up into the wagon.

He suppressed a grimace at the sight of the very dead Russell and exhaled sharply as he began to root around in his things. Harley looted a few caps out of the man's shirt pocket and quickly glanced over his shoulder at his attacker who kicked one of the wheels impatiently. The vet held up a hand in response before moving to Russell's pack.

"Gimme a second, the rest are probably in here—"

Harley was unable to finish his sentence as the gunman's attention was drawn elsewhere— Bubba Ray was clamoring up the hill in a panic, feet clumsily trying to carry his body up the embankment.

"You little shit!" In a millisecond, the shotgun was immediately redirected to the frightened young man that was trying so desperately to just distance himself from the situation. And in half of another millisecond, the bandit fired twice into Bubba's back. The young man cried out as his knees buckled, sending him back down the way he'd come.

_"No!"_

Before the shooter had a chance to pull the trigger in Harley's direction, the concealed pistol was already drawn and he'd already fired a 9 millimeter sized hole into the man's temple. The payback would've felt _good_ , but the sudden death of his companion managed to bring the sniper back from the paralyzing shot Harley's rifle had hit him with. Neither of the remaining two thought twice about the firefight that ensued.

It took the soldier a few minutes before he'd finally been able to land two killshots— one in the killer's jugular and the other between his eyes. The rush of adrenaline propelled his body to scramble towards the puddle of blood that his young friend had collapsed in. Harley fell to Bubba Ray's side and gently propped his limp neck up onto his forearm.

Bubba's eyes flew open at the sudden touch, a mixture of blood and pained sobs catching in his throat. Harley spent a few seconds trying to calm him with quiet shushing, and he placed a finger to Bubba's bloodied lips before his teeth sunk into his cheek _hard_. His hand found the boy's cheek and his thumb gingerly swiped away a few tears, eyes scanning the pool of blood as it engulfed the knees of his jeans. The white of his t-shirt was no longer visible through all of the holes in his abdomen.

"It's okay, son," Harley nodded, certain. Bubba wasn't gonna make it, and they both knew it. "It's okay. You think of your mama right now, you hear me? You think of her and how much she loves you. She doesn't want you to be afraid because you're strong."

Almost as if Harley's words had some sort of supernatural power to them, the young man's body began to relax in his arms. His pained whimpers ceased, and Harley was absorbed in the stillness that followed. Harley held onto the boy's body until the sun began to peek over the rolling hills of the Boston Commonwealth.

It didn't take long for Harley to dig two graves for his fallen friends. He carefully placed their bodies into the ground with their belongings before he allowed the earth to claim them. He'd even fashioned two crosses out of twine and sticks to decorate their graves. Russell and Bubba Ray were both men of God, so it would have been a disservice to the both of them if he hadn't honored their faith. That was the least he could do.

Harley broke the radstags free from the wagon and watched them curiously part from the wreckage, unsure of where their new path would take them just like he himself was. After collecting his guns and valuables, the soldier set off down the desolate road.

For the first time in years, Harley Walker was completely and utterly alone.

 


	2. 2

**_A few weeks after Caesar's Legion's victory at the Hoover Dam_**

"What are you saying?"

Arcade's eyes glistened with trepidation as he rotated his wrists in the tight steel cuffs that restrained him to a chair. Though he had grown up in a military household, he had never experienced anything akin to what Caesar's Legion was capable of. They'd infiltrated the Mormon Fort and killed most of the Followers, but allowed him to live. As far as he knew, his partner was also dead. He could feel his heart breaking more and more with each click of his captor's nails as she tapped them on the table she sat at. 

He had seen her before. Many times, in fact. She often came by the Fort to trade with Julie, but she never stayed long. After Julie had met her for the first time, she'd told him that "there was something unsettling about that one". If he thought hard enough, he could remember the way that her voice crackled in her throat when she'd said it. He'd dismissed it, of course, called her paranoid. But Arcade knew better. Julie's gut feelings had never failed the Followers before. If he'd listened then, perhaps they could have devised a plan to escape the Mojave without alerting the Legion.

The woman remained silent, only offering a cock of her head to expose that carved jawline that hid underneath the shiny tendrils of blonde that billowed like smoke past her clavicles. There was a slight raise of her brow before she giggled, coquettish and playful.

"Now, now," Her tone was soft but chastising. It could cut a man in two. It could cut _him_ in two. "You know what I'm saying, Arcade."

"You want me to kill Caesar."

"That I do."

His breath caught in his chest. He was at a proper loss for words. _Kill_ Caesar. What purpose would that serve? That army of his, that army that conquered New Vegas, was forged from his flesh and bone. They served _him_ like they were his personal pets because they were. With a snap of his fingers, Caesar's men would decimate empires in his name.

"Why on earth would you think that I would do such a thing?" Arcade whispered. His glasses had accumulated fog from the heat that his face emitted. The woman smiled and leaned forward. Her thumb worked at his glasses to clear them of the frustrated mist that had collected on the lens. 

"I have your man, you know," Her lips pursed and she tapped his cheek with her ring finger. "Jerry, correct? The one who is absolutely _terrible_ at poetry."

Arcade's heart sank. Jerry was _alive_. He could feel tears welling in the ends of his eyes, but he snapped his head to the side when she'd collected the droplets as they'd finally fell down his filthy cheeks. His stomach churned in disgust as she placed her finger in her mouth where she savored the taste of his agony. What he didn't expect now was a Legionnaire to step forward from the shadows to hand her a small coin purse. Her face lit up with delight as she toyed with the strings before her hazel orbs shot back up to his eyes. They scanned him closely before dumping the contents of the purse into his lap.

A heavy sob constricted the doctor's throat as he looked down. In his lap lay a pinky finger that donned chipped black nail polish and blood on the knuckle. It hadn't been removed cleanly. The edges were jagged. 

"Oh, god, no," His brows knitted together and he glanced back up at the woman who still wore a toothy grin. She taunted him with another laugh and his face paled as he asked, "Why?"

"Call it an incentive to do whatever I want, lest you want your lover to lose more than just his fingers."

After he was unable to say anything else, a Praetorian descended down the decayed ladder into his makeshift dungeon. The brief sight of the sun made Arcade's heart ache. The stranger's spine straightened and his head bowed to the monster in front of him. He had never seen a woman so highly regarded in the Legion. There was something about her that made these soldiers submit so easily. It was peculiar. Terrifying, just like her.

"Lady Bellona, Caesar has requested your report on the profligate doctor."

Bellona stood and smoothed the imaginary wrinkles out of her leather bodice before moving towards the door. She glanced over her shoulder at Arcade, one final degrading gesture before she climbed out of the hatch that led back into the ruins of the Mojave.

"Tell our lord that the doctor has agreed to perform the surgery," Her voice was smug. "I would deliver the message myself, but alas, I have other matters to attend to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was intentionally short, not because it's a filler, but because everyone deserves to know the monster that helped the Legion beat the Mojave into submission and helped Lanius rise to power. ;) Next chapter will switch back to Harley's POV, but everyone should expect chapters like these.


End file.
